


Secret

by Viviena



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1776922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viviena/pseuds/Viviena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a secret. It used to keep him sane but now he needs help to break free from it. Too bad he's too good at hiding it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret

**Author's Note:**

> As always it's just a small piece of a story I'm not sure I will ever finish.

It’s not that Stiles actually likes pain. Not at all. If it was like that, he would have appreciated the existence of Jackson Whittmore way more than he did. Or that one time when he hit his toe on a kitchen table and cursed so creatively, his father forgot to give him a lecture and just stood there with an amused face. Stiles doesn’t like to be in pain, nope. Most of the time. 

It started after his mother's death, yeah, he’s pathetic and predictable like that. Actually, some hints were there even before, when he was in elementary school already diagnosed with ADHD but still not getting right drugs in the right dosage. In extreme need for concentration he would just bite his tongue really hard, or scratch his arms till they were cowered with long thick stripes of angry red and it would help. He was doing it mindlessly out of instinct, but when his mother died and he stepped into the world of full-blown panic attacks Stiles reached out to the old methods. Just tongue biting was not enough this time, though. To fight fire with fire it had to be way stronger. 

Still his first time was almost an accident. He was twelve, a few months after she was gone and he was fixing a sandwich in a kitchen. His hands moving automatically until he looked down on two jars with peanut butter and jelly and suddenly he couldn’t remember which should go first. Couldn’t remember how his mom was doing it. The next moment he was on his knees choking on the air, breathing in but unable to breath out. It was his first panic attack while being alone without Scott, teachers at school or his father to help him, anxiety warped his guts in a tight knot and his heart was pounding in his throat. Stiles curled into himself shacking, listening the blood rumble in his ears, while his mind was going to extremes, providing new and new waves of pure terror and he was sure he was going to die. 

And then he griped the knife he was still holding in his right hand and sliced it over his left palm. The pain was roaring, made him scream, zoomed and cropped the world just to the feel of his injury. And oh it was good. His breath came with sobs, but he could breathe again. He couldn’t think about his mother or death at all, only about the burning pain. 

Stiles told his father it was an accident; they even had to go to a hospital to get some stiches. He hasn’t told Scott either because it was his secret. That night, lying in his bed, pocking at the wound and feeling it ache and sting even through the lull of painkillers he felt at ease for the first time in months. Stiles fell asleep smiling, cradling his palm. 

After that he learned fast that pain can be an ally. You can trust it and it will ground you and keep you safe from the dark corners of your own mind.  
One thing he was sure about, was that nobody should know or he will be in trouble. No one will understand, they will freak out and worry about him. So he had to make sure no one ever find out. And he did a great job, considering he was hurting himself semi-regularly for years and never raised any suspicion. He always liked to dress up in layers and if a bit more layers appeared, well, no one seamed to notice. He kind of hated lacrosse but still worked hard to join the team and no one questioned why, so he just got a permanent excuse for an injury of any kind, he was clumsy and bruised easily. Also he stated to be (and was) self-conscious and refused to undress in presence of other people. Stiles was weird it was his brand of normal, his father and his best friend knew it, everyone knew it, he could afford that kind of attitude. 

***

Derek took off his wet Henley and squeezed it. He looked doubtfully on still totally soaked material and clearly decided against putting it on again. Stiles feeling more uncomfortable with every second tried his best to squeeze the hem of his own hoody. 

Derek looked at him incredulous. “Are you not going to change?”

“In what? I don’t keep spare clothes in school. Should have known better all things considered” 

“At least take that off. You will get a pneumonia going around in wet clothes”

“I’m fine” Stiles said, ignoring the clench of his teeth and obvious shivers. 

“Stiles” 

“Will you drop it please? I just saved your God damn life” Stiles snaps. Derek goes silent his expression closed off. For a second Stiles regrets it but there is not much he can do. He had nightmares about being paralyzed, having to watch mechanic guy being crushed to death and he pursued the only way he knew to keep himself sane. There are quite several cuts on his upper arms and there is no way he can explain them to Derek. 

“Whatever” Derek shrugs. And the tiny thread of connection they may have formed in this pool experience is not there anymore. Stiles wants to reach out and say something but he can only stand there wet and miserable watching Derek walking away.


End file.
